by Lucy Eden
I take my time, stroking the fabric, giving her every opportunity to push my hand away. Then, suddenly, she moves, and I feel soft mounds press into my shoulder as hands wrap around my unoccupied arm. Demanding nails dig into my skin.
This could be so many things. A beginning to something serious, or a quick fling at the beach with the closest warm body. Either way, it’s still Olive, and I can’t imagine giving up this chance to explore the secret parts of her.
Hooking my finger, I tug her panties to the side. Slick, wet heat tears a low groan from my throat. The first definitive sound in our quiet bedroom.
That is until I stroke the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her slit.
“Theo,” she moans my name against my neck, where she’s tucked her head.
Hell.
How long have I fantasized about that? About this?
In the darkness, I stroke Olive Buchanan, savoring every gasp and whimper, cataloging the shape of her body where it presses against mine, memorizing the smell of sweat and arousal.
There’s movement, a tugging at the waistband of my shorts, and the next moment I’m on the verge of spending because her firm hand grasps the hard length I’ve tried to ignore this whole trip.
So much denied pleasure has my balls tightening.
Needing to feel this woman come apart before I lose my mind to passion, I sink one, and then two fingers into her pussy.
There’s a cry followed by a wet swipe of a tongue on my neck.
With a thumb on her clit, I curl the fingers buried inside her, stroking her soft inner walls.
Before, Olive’s body rocked against mine in an invitation. Under my ministrations she writhes in an uncontrolled demand. All the while her skilled hand works up and down my cock, using the drops of my precum to lubricate the motion.
“Close,” she whispers before scraping her teeth along the taught muscle in my neck. The delicious pain has my hips jerking, my spine bowing off the bed.
Knowing I’m seconds away, I slip a third finger into her. She cries out, and I feel the orgasm pulse through her, the muscles inside her squeezing my hand.
The sensation is so erotic, it does me in.
“Olive,” I groan her name, the longing in my voice turning the word into a confession delivered in the darkness. Pleasure spikes from the base of my spine, coursing up my dick. Wetness spurts from the tip of me, as her hand slides away.
We both lay panting, our breaths filling the small bedroom. At some point, hers slow and grow even. I sense she’s fallen back to sleep, our escapade pairing with the early hour to bring on exhaustion.
Feeling my own lids grow heavy, I take a moment to pull her underwear back into place and shuck off my shirt where most of my cum landed.
Our actions and the darkness making me bold. I pull Olive against my chest.
When I wake up, I’m alone.
Memories return immediately, and my dick responds.
But my mind shuts the reaction down because there’s no delicious warm body next to me.
Did she regret it?
Did she have fun, but only want to do it once?
A glance at the clock helps ease some nerves. I slept in. It’s an hour later than I normally get up. Olive probably just woke up before me and wanted to start the day.
This is what I tell myself in the shower and as I walk up the stairs. But any hope I have of getting answers is dashed when I find the entire Buchanan clan gathered in the kitchen and dining area.
“Morning, man.” Tim slaps me on the back as he walks by. The friendly gesture sends a spike of guilt through me. He has no idea what I was doing with his sister just a few hours ago. “Grab some eggs off the stove. I made too many.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
After scooping a helping of scrambled eggs onto a plate, I slip into a seat across the table from Olive. She smiles at me over her cereal bowl.
I want to take that as a good sign. Problem is, her expression looks completely normal. It’s the same sweet and saucy smile she gives me every morning.
What is she thinking?
“Well, it’s been fun!” Diana announces, dropping her plate in the sink before wandering around the room to hug everyone.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, surprised.
The rental goes until Saturday morning. At least, that’s what I remember Tim saying.
Is today the last day? Was that my last night with Olive?
“Yeah. We’ve got a longer drive, and I have to be in the office tomorrow for a meeting,” Melony explains, gathering up toys that Mason has scattered around the living area.
Relief filters through my chest, but it’s smothered almost immediately.
“Bet you’re both looking forward to having your own rooms for the last couple of nights.” Mrs. Buchanan smiles as me over her mimosa, as if she didn’t just punch my stomach with her words.
“Huh?” Is all I can manage.
“Olive moves up the hierarchy,” Caroline explains while stirring sugar into her coffee.
I glance across the table at the youngest Buchanan, trying to keep all emotion off my face.
“My stuff is already in the basement room,” Olive states before spooning cereal into her mouth.
The tightness in my chest eases a fraction.
“Don’t be lazy, baby girl.” Mr. Buchanan scolds his daughter. “Probably wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to shift everything. I’m sure Theo would appreciate moving to a bigger bed.”
My head ducks before the room can see how much blood pools in my cheeks. If anyone does glimpse the color change, maybe I can blame it on a sunburn. None of them know I’ve spent every night in the bigger bed already.
The urge to insist Olive doesn’t have to move rises in my throat, but I shove it down.
Who in their right mind would opt for a twin bed in a shared room when they could have space all to themselves? No doubt what we did early this morning would be written across my face if I tried arguing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Olive’s head tilt. Still trying not to telegraph to the Buchanan family that I know what their baby girl sounds like when she comes, I keep my gaze on my breakfast.
“Sure. Guess I should claim the honor while I can,” Olive murmurs.
There’s no distinct emotion in her voice that I can discern. Not disappointment. Not relief.
She sounds … neutral.
The next forkful of eggs I swallow is as tasteless as rubber.
A bed without Olive is useless.
Three nights was all it took to turn me into an addict, and now I can’t sleep without the weight of her limbs on me. I want her to press me into the bed with her body.
Without her, I’m unmoored, shifting constantly. Unable to find comfort.
I came here with the hope of freeing myself, only to discover I’m even more lost than before.
“Damn it,” I mutter, throwing my blankets off. Standing from the bed, I pace to the door, wondering if a midnight run on the beach might help me clear my mind. If not, maybe it’ll exhaust me enough to go to sleep.
Problem is, when I step out into the hallway, I find my way blocked.
In the glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall, she stands a foot away, hair tangled over her shoulders, clothes wrinkled, eyes wide at my appearance.
“Olive? What are you doing here?”
For a moment her gaze traces over me, and I realize I’m shirtless for the first night since arriving. When we shared a room, I thought it might make her uncomfortable. But from the way she devours me with her eyes, I’m wishing I’d tried this earlier.
Instead of answering my question, Olive asks her own.
“Do you want your own room?”
“Hell no,” I mutter before thinking it through.
But her wide grin keeps me from regretting my answer.
“Me neither,” she admits.
Then her hand raises, displaying a small item pinched between her fingers.
&
nbsp; A condom.
The curve of her brow is a silent question.
“Hell yes,” I growl, grabbing her up with arms around her waist.
We fall onto the bed together, bouncing as our weight hits the springs. Once we settle, her stare connects with mine. We stay still like that, no words exchanged.
I know the sounds she makes when she comes. I’ve felt her inner walls grip my fingers.
But I’ve never kissed Olive Buchanan.
Six years, and I’ve never known how she tastes.
I dip my chin, finding her lips with mine. She doesn’t need coaxing. In fact, I maintain control for a second at most. Then I’m on my back, her hot thighs bracketing my hips, her hands pressing my shoulders into the bed.
Olive dominates me. Her frenzied attack makes me hard.
She came here to fuck me, and I’m ready to get fucked.
Does this encounter mean anything more than two bodies joining together?
Maybe if she didn’t sit up to pull off her top, exposing her bare breasts, I might have asked for a pause so we could talk.
But the time for conversations is done when her softness presses against my chest. This time when our mouths meet, our tongues stroke together. The taste of her is heady, and I suck on her lower lip eagerly.
She smells like sweat and sunscreen. Our bodies writhe until the last scraps of clothes get kicked off.
Every bit of my skin begs to be touched by her, but no area more than the hard length jutting from my hips. I stroke my hand over her ass, finding her core, groaning at the way my fingers slip in her arousal.
Olive breaks away and leans back. That’s when I realize she’s still holding the condom. Moving with hurried grace, she rips the package open and rolls the protection on me. No hesitation.
“We should’ve been doing this since night one,” she murmurs.
We should’ve been doing this for years, I’m about to respond. Only, she chooses that moment to sink down onto my cock, slowly taking each inch of me.
My head turns to the side, teeth sinking into a pillow, all to stifle the guttural moan she elicits with her tight sheath. Thank god we have our own floor.
“Look at me, Theo.”
When I do, it’s hard not to immediately spill.
Olive is a queen, mounting me like the throne she deserves. Her posture is straight, her tits jutting out proudly, nipples tight with the command to be worshiped.
Muttering curses, I drag my hands up her body, cupping her breasts as I let my thumbs explore the mouth-watering buds. Soon, I’ll suck on them. But for the moment, I’m just looking for something to hold onto, to keep me grounded, as she begins to ride me.
The woman I’ve fantasied about for years gazes down at me, panting breaths tensing her chest as she uses me for her pleasure.
You’re using each other, I tell myself.
This is something I wanted, too. To get her out of my head. To move on with my life.
A quick fuck could do that. Get rid of the mystery.
But when Olive tugs on my shoulder, silently asking for me to take the top spot, another shift happens between us.
Now I stare down at her, listening to her whimpers, watching pleasure weighing on her eyelids, all as my hips thrust. Over and over I retreat, then fill her. But I don’t feel my obsession fading.
Each moment she watches me claim her, my need only grows.
In a desperate effort to distract Olive from what she’ll surely see in my eyes, I snake my hand between us, finding her clit.
“Oh!” She gasps, her legs falling wider, somehow allowing me to go deeper. Then it comes, that amazing clenching of her around me and the satisfied groan from her throat.
I’m on the edge, feeling too much, but confident I’ve hidden it.
Then her touch trails down my chest, and I meet her eyes as she lets out another gasping word.
“Theo.”
A heavy moan, one that speaks of my surrender, accompanies my finish.
Once, twice, a third time I pump into her, trying to focus only on the bite of her nails, and the press of her body to mine.
Not on the pressure in my chest.
If I look at that too closely, let her know what she’s done to me, I’m terrified the pleasure will turn to pain.
FRIDAY
There’s more than just a leg draped over my waist this morning. As the sun from the cracked curtains spills into the bedroom and pulls me from sleep, I realize there’s an entire Olive wrapped around my torso.
We’ve kicked off the sheets at some point, the heat of our bodies pressed together all that was needed during the summer night.
A delirious haze of happiness just begins to soak my brain when the clomp of heavy footsteps sounds outside the bedroom.
“Wake your lazy ass up, Theo! I need help carrying the kayaks down to the beach.”
Fighting off the aroused fog I woke up in, dread sweeps over me as I watch the next few seconds unfold as if they play out in slow motion.
The knob turns, the salt-rusted hinges creak, and as the door shoves open, my best friend steps into the room.
My limbs won’t work, shock freezing them in place. Which means I lay sprawled, nude, in the bed, using his naked little sister as a blanket.
Tim’s face slides to confusion then sudden, horrified realization.
The sound he makes is some strange combination of a yell and a scream, the volume of it shocking Olive awake. She rolls off of me and straight onto the floor, leaving my half-hard dick on full display. Not to mention, Tim now gets to see his sister’s bare front in addition to her ass.
“My eyes!” He yells, slapping his hands over his face and swinging around toward the exit. Only, he misjudges the distance and runs straight into the doorjamb. As he moans in pain, Caroline appears in the doorway.
“Babe? I heard you scream! What—” Her question cuts off when she sees me. Face scorching red, her gaze jumps away, only to find a nude Olive struggling to sit up. “Oh god!”
“What’s going on?” A new voice asks.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Let me out of this hell!” Tim yells, still trying to find the exit with his eyes closed, but his way is blocked by Mrs. Buchanan.
I’ve just gathered enough of my wits to throw the bed sheet over Olive when a loud bark sounds from the hallway.
“Mom!” Olive shouts. “Did you let Cooper downstairs?”
The answer comes in the form of black bundle of fur weaving through legs, aiming straight for the twin bed Jezebel lounges on. With a shriek, the feline seeks an escape almost as desperately as Tim.
Not finding a clear route out, Jezebel goes up.
Up Tim that is.
Letting out terrified wails as it goes, the one-eyed cat scales the man, using every claw it has to latch onto his scalp.
Mayhem commences.
The next fifteen minutes consist of Olive chasing after her brother, trying to dislodge her pet, all while wearing nothing but a bed sheet. With only a beach towel wrapped around my waist, I follow the family upstairs, feeling useless as the drama continues.
Tim curses, Caroline fights to shove Cooper outside, Olive uses one hand to hold up her toga dress and the other to peel the cat off, and Mrs. Buchanan pours herself and her husband some OJ before adding a liberal amount of vodka to both glasses. The patriarch of the family raised an eyebrow when the parade of insanity reached the top floor, but he’s been kind enough to sip his mimosa and not comment on what clearly went on between his daughter and me last night.
“There!” Olive sets Jezebel on the ground, and the cat streaks back downstairs. “Now stop flailing and sit. I need to clean your cuts.” She uses a calm commanding voice that probably serves her well in the ER.
“She tried to flay me alive!” Tim wails, flopping down onto the couch.
Olive rolls her eyes at me before hitching her sheet higher and moving to the kitchen sink. As her daughter fills a bowl with soapy water, Mrs.
Buchanan sidles up to me, her face slightly flushed. I wonder if the color is from the drama or her morning booze.
“We’re all pretty relaxed here, but maybe you want to go put some shorts on?” The woman pats my shoulder with a kind smile.
“Uh. Yeah. Okay.”
Fuck. This is not how I planned to do this.
But, to be fair, I had no plan. When Olive showed up at my door, I shut my brain off. No thoughts of consequences or the future.
I just wanted her.
After pulling on some shorts and a T-Shirt, I grab the pajama set I stripped off Olive last night and carry it up the two flights of stairs.
“Here, hold these to the cuts and keep pressure on them. The bleeding should stop in a second.” Olive is instructing Caroline when I approach. She gives me a grateful smile when I offer the clothes, taking them from my grasp and heading into the bathroom.
Which leaves me alone with her family.
Suddenly, I feel like all four sets of eyes are boring into me.
Maybe if Olive and I had talked, had figured out exactly what was going on between us, I would be able to meet their stares confidently. I could stand here and say “I’m crazy about her. I want to be with her. What you saw wasn’t some fling.”
But we didn’t talk.
We just fucked.
And if I announce how I feel to her family, only for Olive to come out of the bathroom and brush off the experience, I’m not sure I could pretend to be okay.
So, like a coward, I run.
Literally.
“Going for a jog,” I mutter, and sprint down the stairs.
The miles that disappear under my feet don’t help. At one point I wonder if I can run all the way back to Raleigh. That thought doesn’t last long.
Even if what comes next hurts, I can’t give up any more moments with Olive.
When I get back to the house, most everyone seems to have made themselves scarce. Except for Tim, who lays on the couch with a washcloth over his eyes.
“Your eyes didn’t actually burn,” I feel the need to point out.